


All My Stars

by ineffablegood



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Cold-Blooded Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley is a writer, Crowley-centric (Good Omens), Jealous Crowley (Good Omens), M/M, Snake Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:02:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21551920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ineffablegood/pseuds/ineffablegood
Summary: Crowley struggled. Every month that drew colder, every day and every hour, his biological clock was ticking toward hibernation, and every year it went on, every century, the more Crowley wondered just how much he missed of it. Crowley struggles with these feelings, scared of Aziraphale finding someone that he can spend these days with, and jealous of their friends because they get to see Aziraphale at his happiest. Crowley was in love, and all he could do was write about it.And they say that Demons aren't supposed to feel love.-In which Crowley is a writer and cold-blooded, and Aziraphale is a little more than oblivious to it all.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 54





	1. Trembling Hands.

Crowley was cold. The bone numbing, spine tingling kind of cold that went all the way from the very tips of your ears down to your toes, and he couldn’t get warmed back up again. It was how he knew the first signs of winter were coming in, early in November when the sun fell younger each day, and rose at hours even humans couldn’t call normal. Though it was yet to be called winter by the classical days, December through March, Crowley knew he was going to suffer this time. Winter was but a fickle friend, and he had yet to make it through to snow fall. Of course, he could be blamed for such a thing as he hardly helped his own situation. He didn’t own warm clothes, there was no heating in his flat, and he didn’t get enough occult energies in him to power him through a long winter.

The sniffles came within the first few hours of the first Friday in November. Thursday had been the day when dread of the winter had settled into Crowley’s bones. He pushed away the thoughts that pulled him back into the only warm place in his flat, the bed, and went about his usual temptations and miracles in London, just to make himself feel a little better. Of course, the odd looks increased the more he strolled around London in freezing cold air in nothing put a shirt and leather jacket, along with sunglasses. Crowley yearned for his bed, but he feared should he fall asleep now, he would not wake up far into May, then most of his year would have been and gone. 

At a time, Crowley wouldn’t have cared about sleeping for a solid six months, extending a nap through even a few years, but now he had someone who relied on him, and he couldn’t let the side down. Aziraphale. Bubbling, bright, warm Aziraphale who decorated his shop every year immediately after Halloween and didn’t take the decorations down until the middle of February. Crowley had never had the pleasure of seeing Christmas with the angel, and he wondered if the other had any traditions of his own as he wandered aimlessly through London, trying to cause mischief as the sun started to set at half past four, setting a melancholy mood over Crowley’s head. 

Crowley was a snake. In every sense of the word, no matter which form he took, there was no way of hiding the purely reptilian side of him that never disappeared, never quite hid itself away. Crowley itched his glasses up his nose. The yellow eyes were one thing, the sharp teeth that dug into his bottom lip as he watched avidly as a child ran into the road. Aziraphale wouldn’t approve, and Crowley knew it. With a sigh and a wave of a trembling hand, the child found himself out of harms way, the car having crashed into the back of a parked one. Well, he couldn’t be all good now, could he?

The other problem with Crowley being a snake, was that he was cold-blooded. That was the precise reason why winters were so harsh on him, and why he found himself blowing hot air into his own hands to try to warm himself up. Without realising it, Crowley’s feet had carried their way to Aziraphale’s book shop, and the demon could see the orange yellow glow of lights coming from the inside, and the old sign on the door reading ‘open’. It was dark out, so Crowley had figured the angel might have closed for the night, but he supposed the night was only young, the moon having barely made an appearance yet. He should go visit the other, before his inevitable disappearance as the month drew in colder. 

Maybe he could go in for a little bit of a warm too. It was guaranteed that Aziraphale would offer him some sort of hot drink, or wine. Crowley would happily take either in his current state. Goosebumps raced along his skin, and with that he had his mind set and headed inside with a sharp glare at the wreath hung up on the door. He was allowed to dislike Christmas if he so pleased, even if it was because he was jealous that others could actually see it, open presents with loved ones. Crowley almost scoffed at the thought. Right, loved ones. He would have to remember to wish Beelzebub a Merry Christmas. Smirking at the mere thought of Beelzebub opening up some kind of tacky human Christmas greeting card, he pushed his way into the book shop, sighing at the immediate warm that curled around him and settled in his chest at being around something so purely angelic. Something so purely Aziraphale.

He did his very best to ignore the lights twinkling around him, the tinsel hanging from various bookshelves and the giant Christmas tree in the corner with presents already tucked underneath it. Crowley felt jealousy spike in his chest. Who was the angel buying presents for? He made a move toward the tree, breathing in the scent of pine needles and tasting the air, pausing when he saw movement in the corner of his eye. Aziraphale emerging from behind a bookshelf, and beaming oh so bright at the sigh of Crowley. Crowley’s heart grew warmer, though he convinced himself it was just because of his closeness to the fire. “Crowley, my dear! How lovely to see you, I expected you to be holed up by now!” Aziraphale had never been judgemental, but he very much knew how to wind Crowley up enough to get him to talk.

Aziraphale mentioning him being holed up meant he was inferring to the humans he usually holed up with. For once, Crowley didn’t take the bait. He didn’t want an argument with the angel. He stuffed his hands deep in his pockets and lifted his shoulders in a shrug at the other. “Not quite cold enough, yet.”


	2. Chattering Teeth.

It took all of five minutes for their casual catch up chit chat to dwindle, and Crowley was very much sure that at any moment Aziraphale would usher him out with some excuse he had heard before. Usually something about the shop still being human, and Crowley looked like a ‘very intimidating fellow’ to humans, so perhaps he would scare them off. Crowley knew better than to believe that one, because Aziraphale did everything in his best to scare potential customers off without actually being unkind to them. Whether it be by miracle or some other way, none of Aziraphale’s books had been taken from his collection in over half a century. 

Instead of ushering Crowley out, however, this time Aziraphale seemed to glance him up and down. He could see the tremors still running through Crowley’s body, make his teeth chatter and rattle through his body, and decided against sending the other back out into the cold. Crowley was susceptible to even the tiniest amounts of cold, and he could feel it creeping in toward him from under the door and the thin glass panes. It made him evermore thankful when Aziraphale ushered him into the backroom with a smile so warm that it almost blazed like the crackling yellow and red fire that was now to Crowley’s right where he had sat himself unceremoniously on the sofa whilst Aziraphale puttered around, locking up shop.

Crowley gazed around the room he had settled in, seeing that nothing much had changed since the last time he had been in said room. There was a blanket thrown over the back of Aziraphale’s chair that didn’t usually live there, and he had clearly started a new book judging on the one set on the table. He looked at the book in the dim glow of the fire, managing a half smile as he saw who it was by. Aziraphale was reading one of his books. Of course, that wasn’t information that Aziraphale actually knew and was aware of.

Crowley had been writing for years. All the way back to quill and ink, to typewriters. He had caught the bug early on and had yet to stop. Writing was the only way Crowley knew how to express himself, to release a build up of emotions that he felt he often wasn’t even allowed to have. He was a demon, after all. He reminded himself of that every single breathing second of the day. That’s what it felt like anyway. 

He took in a deep breath and sat back in his seat, fingers drumming on the arm of the chair as he gazed around the stacks of books balanced precariously in the room. Aziraphale was running out of space. He had no doubt that his flat upstairs was also full of books, and he knew that he had more than one copy of some of his own works. He had seen them from time to time, works by one ‘Jedediah Plattlove’. Crowley had found Jedediah quite the ironic name, one that really rubbed God’s face in it, not that she cared for the fallen archangel Raphael any more. The being was out of her department, now- even if she was supposed to love every being. Crowley thought it was a load of shit.

Jedediah meant beloved of the Lord, and friend of God. It really truly was ironic. Here he was, on earth as a demon writing under what could only be classed as an angelic pen-name. His mood sank a little as he thought on the last name. Plattlove. That was the name of an old acquaintance of his, dare he call him a lover. He was actually the first man who had kept him warm through a harsh winter. He had cared so much about him, they had lived their lives together in harmony. Matthew Plattlove knew what Crowley was, and yet he still kept him safe and warm to the very best of his ability. Winter was hard for Crowley if only for the memories it brought on. 

He cleared his throat as Aziraphale walked into the room, the lights in the shop behind him clicking off. “What are you looking so down about, my dear?” Without having to ask, Aziraphale had pushed a steaming cup of coffee his way, splashed with rum by the smell of it. He sat back in his own chair, and miracled himself a hot cocoa, in that Satan forsaken angel wing mug. The things that the humans came up with these days never failed to both amuse and annoy Crowley.

Crowley had been the one to buy said mug for Aziraphale. It had been the anniversary of them first meeting in the garden, some millennia later that the tradition had started between them. Whenever they could (which was most of the time) they would meet up, whether at the book shop or the Ritz, and share a nice bottle of wine and exchange gifts. Crowley usually gifted things to Aziraphale that were tacky, over-the-top human inventions or a first edition book that the angel was yearning for, there was no in between on presents when it came to Crowley.

“The weather, Aziraphale. Always the weather. You know what I get like.” Aziraphale clicked his tongue in a tut. “You don’t even attempt to look after yourself, dear. No wonder you disappear in the winter. Quite ridiculous.” Crowley rolled yellow eyes and dragged his sunglasses from his nose, tossing them on the table. They didn’t break simply because Crowley willed them not to. He sighed and pinched his nose, feeling the familiar ache of a headache coming on. Perhaps if he stretched this conversation out long enough, he would feel alright to leave Aziraphale’s side. He could always revert to snake form to try to keep himself in a state of hibernation all winter, or he could find a human to drag to bed with him. He took a sip of coffee and gazed over the rim at Aziraphale. “I think we’re going to need something stronger than coffee and cocoa to ward off the cold.”


	3. Blue Lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here, have a short chapter.

For someone who was supposed to be angelic, Crowley had very much decided that when alcohol or food were mentioned, Aziraphale became a little less angelic. He was indulgent, and that was something that angels weren’t supposed to be allowed. It reminded him a little more that now they were very much on their own side. Crowley watched with keen eyes as the angel got up again and left his eyesight, only to return with a bottle of wine. That was a bit more like it. 

Sighing quietly, he finished off his coffee and felt it sinking down into his throat and stomach, warming him briefly. He didn’t want to leave Aziraphale’s side, that was becoming abundantly clear. He yearned to be close to the angel, for the other to care for him and keep him warm. It was against his very nature to be such a way, and it was a forceful reminder that he used to be allowed that touch. He used to be allowed the warmth and comfort when he was in heaven, and the feeling of feather light kisses pressed across his cheeks drifted over his thoughts. 

He blinked back into reality as the sound of Aziraphale’s voice hit his ears. Right, he wasn’t in heaven nor hell anymore. “-dear, are you listening to me at all?” Crowley raised an eyebrow at the slightly tetchy tone on Aziraphale’s voice. “I can’t say I was, no. What were you saying?” Aziraphale rolled his eyes, and Crowley smirked as he picked up his newly poured glass of wine. He’d started rubbing off on Aziraphale, just like he’d unfortunately picked up some of Aziraphale’s mannerisms without meaning to (like the other day when he’d caught himself almost calling someone ‘dear’, he’d been in a mood for the following three days).

“I was saying that we should get something to eat, and that you should stay here for the winter.” The last half of the sentence was rushed, like the angel had been waiting to say it for a while. Like he was scared that Crowley would say no- and Crowley didn’t know what to do about that. He would adore spending the winter in the bookshop, in the warm and cozy surroundings that Aziraphale brought, but he couldn’t. He hadn’t reverted to that form in front of Aziraphale for a long time, and he didn’t want to show Aziraphale that ugly side of himself. Crowley hadn’t realized that he’d been staring, frozen at Aziraphale until he spoke again. “I know you… go to your snake form, I went to your flat the last winter.” Crowley’s eyes narrowed, and he felt like he had been betrayed. He’d spent the last winter with a man, and then sent him on the way with his memory cleared of him. He’d wrapped around him and slept for hours. “You did what?” There was a hiss in his voice, and Aziraphale visibly shifted in his chair.

“I was worried about you! You never messaged me or anything, how was I to know you’d done your disappearing act again?” Crowley seethed, having to remind himself to breathe even though it was unnecessary for him, the act calmed him a little. “You invited yourself into my flat! You know that every year this happens, why would that change!” Aziraphale looked down into his glass, sighing softly.

“Well, dear, I thought you might have wanted to spend it with me.” Crowley lost every single word in his vocabulary, in that moment. Aziraphale must have been going mad. Since when had he ever wanted him to stay for the winter? The only difference last year had been.. oh. The start of them being officially on the same side.


End file.
